Luna Lovegood
by Astarel
Summary: But there was a subtle beauty to her movements, a grace to her steps and an endearing charm about her. Sometimes, one of the male students would turn their heads and glance at her- and then finding out, would quickly turn away. Luna's Seventh Year
1. Luna Lovegood

_Chapter One: Luna Lovegood _

It was a wintery morning in Hogwarts. Students milled the courtyard with the laziness of the cold weather as they prepared to return home- in the aftermath of the Battle, the school had been closed a month early. The arches of ancient stones were rapidly piling up with luggage- already damaged by the war, the mossy rocks seemed to be collapsing under the weight.

Luna Lovegood walked amongst the snow, absently. Her dirty-blonde hair was tied loosely, crowning her pale face and surprised-looking eyes; it was not difficult to see why people avoided her. Two large radishes hung from her ears, and a large purple feather was jutting out from her hair, making the girl look very much like a startled peacock.

But she did not mind. She was her own person, and thought little of how she looked. But there was a subtle beauty to her movements, a grace to her steps and an endearing charm about her. Sometimes, one of the male students would turn their heads and glance at her- and then finding out, would quickly turn away.

Luna skipped forward lightly, carefully avoiding the debris on the ground; the arms of statues and many tiny fragments of glass lay buried under the snow, and pricked her bare feet as she walked. In the Transfiguration Courtyard, McGonagall had raised her wand and was mending the shattered statues. A storm of granite sand rose from the earth, flurrying together; when they dispersed, the gargoyle figure had been completely repaired.

_ "Piertotum locomotor,"_ she said, tapping it with the glowing end of her wand. The statue quivered slightly, and then spread its wings outwards; with a pig-like squeal, it came to life and began to chat animatedly at the milling students.

Luna smiled and took out her own wand from beneath her robes. _"Reparo,"_ she said, in her clear and sweet voice. Bits of glass gathered themselves together, fusing and soaring back into the windows above.

McGonagall seemed pleased. "Thank you, Miss Lovegood," said the elderly woman, whose eyes seemed far and distant. The battle had taken a lot out of her, as was the massive clean-up operation. Each spell seemed to be cast with less and less conviction, and only seemed to heal a tiny part of the massive scar.

Luna watched, slightly sad for her, as she hobbled away into the castle. Her leg had been hurt during the battle, by a stray curse; McGonagall would probably never be able to walk properly again. It was tragic, that one who had given so much to a selfless cause would be rewarded by nothing but a crippled existence.

Then, feeling cheerful again, she flounced away. She would be back home by the evening, and then she could go to the river and fish for Gulping Plimpies.

Several hours later, the students left Hogwarts for home. They migrated en masse from the castle, entering the train and quickly finding compartments with their friends. There was much talk in the air, about Voldemort's downfall and of Harry Potter; no doubt they would revel in their glory, as participants in the Battle of Hogwarts.

The Express was not nearly as full as it had been at the start of the school year. Many had left the school just before the final battle, and many others had perished in the fight. Luna could remember the battle clearly, with curses and spells flying across the castle in barrages of light, tearing apart every mossy stone in the walls.

She had barely escaped with her life. But many had not, and she would remember their cold and dead faces for as long as she lived.

Luna quietly slipped into the compartment with her friends. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville and Ginny were seated inside, and silently acknowledged her presence as she occupied the last seat in the carriage. At a glance, she could tell that their minds and hearts were heavy with the weight of what had happened; she didn't blame them at all.

"I wonder what it will be like, next year," she said out loud. Some people thought her to be random and weird; but truthfully, she enjoyed the startling effect that her honesty had on people. "Everyone except Ginny will be gone."

She smiled at the red-haired girl, who seemed surprised by her sudden declaration, and added, "But it will be strange without the DA. It was almost like having friends."

Hermione interrupted her. The other witch had certainly melted her shell a little since they had first met, although she _still _refused to acknowledge the existence of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack- the horn of which would certainly have grown back by the time she returned home.

"I'm staying to complete my seventh year," she said. "Just because I had to save the world from Lord Voldemort with these two," she motioned at Harry and Ron, who grinned, "Doesn't mean that I have to enter society _uneducated _and _unskilled_!" She finished with a dirty glare at her two friends, who were decidedly not continuing their schooling.

Luna smiled gratefully. "Excellent, Hermione! I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to discuss the creatures that you don't believe in! A whole year, in fact!"

Hermione looked slightly pained. "Yes, Luna, I'm sure we will."

Then the train chugged off into the distance, leaving a veil of white smoke in its wake. Away from Hogwarts, back to King's Cross- before it would journey back in September. In that time, it would carry not the old students, who had faithfully rode it for seven years- but new faces, fresh talent to walk the halls of Hogwarts.

And then it would carry the strange blonde girl, whose large and peculiar eyes stared in a constant blank out its glass windows, to her final year in the place. Those who had shaped the course of the castle would not be returning- but a small portion of their legacy would be coming back to shape her own path in the world.


	2. The Quibbler

_Chapter Two: The Quibbler_

Luna returned home, to the tearful and emotional arms of her father. He sobbed deeply, and apologized for everything under the sun- for letting the Death Eaters take her, for not having the courage to stop them, and for betraying her friends in exchange for her own security.

"It was foolish of me, to go against everything that you stood for," he wept. "Will you forgive an old man?" He asked, his voice trembling.

"Of course," she said lightly, perfectly understanding his love for her. The two of them had only each other in the world, after her mother had died. "There isn't anything to forgive, daddy."

Then he laughed heartily, and walked down the winding path to the house. "I must apologize…" he muttered vaguely, pointing his wand at the Dirigible Plums as he passed them.

_"Herbivicus."_

There was a small flash of light, and the plants straightened up and shed their dead leaves. The plums, until now only tiny, wilted prunes, swelled back to life; the vibrant orange shade returned to their juicy flesh, and began to sway a little from side to side.

"The horn of the Snorkack that I mentioned to you… it, well, exploded. And it hasn't come back since," he muttered angrily, using magic to swing open the front door. One spell later, the innards of the rook-shaped building had tidied themselves up- the thick layer of dust on the floor vanished, and the chairs straightened themselves into a more perfect position by the table.

"You must have been cheated, daddy," she smiled airily, heading up the stairs to her room. "Never mind, though. We'll keep on looking until we find it."

He smiled and laughed, grateful that the void that his daughter had left behind was filled again. Humming absently, Xenophilius began to prepare an infusion of Gurdyroots for them to drink, while Luna travelled up the stairs to her room at the top of the tower. The painting she had done at the top of the ceiling was rather ruined - the faces of her friends were charred and Harry had Hermione's hair – and the golden chains had ended up spelling _'fwiends'_. She supposed her father had done his best to restore it.

She found her paint palette beneath her bed, and began to restore the mural. Her brush strokes were steady and practiced; she found it more fulfilling to do it by hand than with magic. She painted, and floated off into a dreamy haze for several hours, letting the brush fly across the ceiling. Paint splattered across her clothes, as she reconstructed the faces of her friends; she did Neville's rather large nose, Harry's scar, and Ginny's fiery red hair. In the tiniest letters she could manage, she wrote the words _'friends' _on the wall, in bright gold paint.

She flopped back on her bed and gave an airy smile. Fixed on her ceiling were the faces of all her friends; the most important people to her, save her father. They had accepted her for what she was, when all others had shunned her for her oddities. And the radishes. She suspected that it was something to do with the radishes.

There came a call from below, and her father walked up the stairs to her room with a large pile of _The Quibbler _in his arms. Luna smiled; it looked like he had managed to conjure up a story in the hours that she had been painting.

"Luna?" he called, wobbling dangerously on the steps. "Could you take these to the Weasleys? They've renewed their subscription… and I can't be bothered to owl that hovel of theirs."

"Daddy," she lightly chastised, springing up from her mattress. "The Weasleys are very nice. They're doing us a favor by buying…"

She took the magazine from her father and skipped down the stairs. It would be nice to see Ginny again. And maybe Ron. He could be very unkind sometimes, and she thought that he looked rather funny when his ears went red.

She hopped out the door and headed southwards, to the Burrow. It was a good day for a walk. The wind was gentle, throwing out her hair, and the grass wiggled beneath her feet. She thought that she had caught a fleeting glimpse of a Nargle; but her brain did not go fuzzy, and it was therefore impossible. Her necklace of corks swayed around her neck as she hopped, careful not to topple the large pile of magazines.

She skimmed the cover of the magazine as she walked, taking in the headlines and latest discoveries of her father in her absence.

_CRUMPLE HORNED SNORKACK REMAINS ELUSIVE. _That would be the Erumpent horn. She felt a tinge of sadness; they both had been so certain that the horn was the final, irrefutable evidence of the Snorkack's existence. She would have brought it onto the Hogwarts Express to wave in Hermione's face. But then it would have exploded, and she might have died. Or been horribly burnt and disfigured.

Oh well.


End file.
